Chapter One

De l t a knew how to work the crowd at Deep Dish as he moved flawlessly through the throngs of people coming and going, both to sit in the restaurant and pick up orders, quickly clearing away vacated tables.

What he couldn't seem to work was the dang handheld POS machine Roman had given him to use. The last place Delta had worked as a server still used notepads and pencils. To make matters hilariously worse—and not in a belly-laugh kind of hilarious, more like a laugh-or-I'll-cry way—the device kept glitching.

He banged it on the side with the heel of his hand, shook it up and down, then slammed it repeatedly onto the table. Now he knew what the POS stood for.

It wasn't Point of Sale.

It was Piece of Shit.

"Problem?"

the woman sitting with her husband and three children asked with a smile.

"I'm tapping out a tune to a song stuck in my head. Dance along if you know it."

Finally, he gave up. "Go ahead and give me your orders."

"And you'll remember them?"

The husband seemed skeptical. The handsome bastard didn't have to sound so cynical.

With a wink at the kids, Delta replied, "Your orders will beam from my head straight to the kitchen."

The gorgeous devil gave Delta a disapproving look. Someone needed to get laid, but since they already had three kids and wifey was pregnant, maybe that wasn't his problem.

They rattled off their orders, the kids adding and replacing multiple items, like they were purposely trying to trip him up.

With a smile, Delta went straight to the pass. "I need a pen and paper, Roman Empire. My phaser just glitched out again."

"You're mashing references,"

Roman said from the kitchen, his knife skills still impressive. He was chopping onions, moving so fast Delta feared parts of his fingers would end up in the omelet. "Sloppy, newbie. Very sloppy. Besides, I'm a cook, not a technician."

Delta grinned at Roman's sense of humor. His boss had not only gotten the Star Trek reference but tossed one back at him. Nice. "My bad. I will try harder, sensei."

"That's now three different references."

Roman poured the egg mixture into a hot pan, flipped pancakes, stirred a pot of grits, and plated food. How did he multitask with so many orders? It was like watching Quicksilver in the kitchen.

The guy seriously needed to get some help back there. Delta was getting motion sickness watching him and praying the guy didn't slip and fall while juggling fifty different tasks.

Grabbing some napkins off the stack on the counter, Delta set the device aside, snagged the pen hiding halfway under the rack of silverware, then jotted down the family's order. When he tried to lift the napkin, it was stuck to the counter.

From what he could see, someone had spilled some syrup and hadn't wiped it up.

He wouldn't let this frustrate him on his first morning at his new job. This wasn't a place to break down with his personal issues. For now, he would suck it up, paste on a smile until his cheeks hurt, and pretend life wasn't gut-punching him.

All he could do was rewrite the order on a different napkin—careful of any suspicious-looking spots on the counter—and hand it to Roman. "You have to pretend I beamed this order through my thought waves. I got a table of kids I need to impress."

"Just be yourself and the cool kids will like you."

Roman swiped the napkin off the pass. "Peer pressure can be brutal. Grab another device."

"They're not my peers,"

Delta argued. "They're little kids."

Roman winked at him. "Don't let them get under your skin, slugger."

The guy was so not funny.

"From what I heard, Roman was a scrooge and purchased the cheapest model."

Julian joined them and grabbed the plates Roman had just whipped onto the ledge of the pass. "You get what you pay for."

"I paid for working employees, but they seem to glitch just as much as the devices when it comes to doing their jobs."

Roman went back to playing superhero in the kitchen.

One thing Delta could say—it was very entertaining working here. He grabbed the carafe of decaffeinated coffee for the gorgeous devil, only to notice a dribble remained. It was the same for the other two carafes.

Grumbling, he rinsed them out and made three fresh pots. While they brewed, he took the kids' and wife's drinks to them. "Your coffee is percolating even as we speak. A fresh-brewed cup is coming right up."

When the jerk grunted and turned away from him, Delta squinted at him, wondering who had taught him such spectacular manners. The guy started talking to his kids, like his server hadn't spoken a single word to him.

There always had to be one or two people who Sparta-kicked a person's patience to the very edge. Asshat.

Despite most of the customers being nice, friendly people, there were some, like the gorgeous devil, who were irritating to deal with.

Just keep smiling. Just keep smiling. Just keep smiling, smiling, smiling he sang in his head. He was referencing Finding Nemo , but substituted "swimming"

for "smiling."

It was a catchy tune and kept him from flipping the guy off.

Just keep smiling —

The song died in Delta's head when he turned to his other tables and spotted two huge biker men sitting at one of them. Sweet baby Jesus. The man on the right exuded an air of rugged masculinity, and Delta found himself walking that way as if pulled along like a whimpering puppy on an invisible leash.

Whoa. Where on earth had that come from? Delta needed to lay off the coffee. It was making his brain think all kinds of weird things. Like how he would love to sit on the face of the guy with the full beard.

Jeez. Someone please save me from the dirty thoughts suddenly bombarding my sex-deprived brain. But the behemoth had Delta's full attention. Boy, did he ever.

Seriously, the stranger's perfectly groomed, full beard and styled undercut conveyed a dedication to his appearance, hinting at a meticulous personality, maybe even a touch of vanity. I still want to sit on his face.

Their booth was against the wall parallel to the entrance, and Delta could see both of them clearly. Sexy Man's tattoos, rendered in a mix of fine lines and bold shading, spoke to a story etched onto his very skin, hinting at experiences and passions that had shaped him. The guy just seemed like someone who embraced life on his own terms.

The same kind of view Delta wished he possessed instead of the crappy life he currently had. Too bad he couldn't send it in for a premium upgrade.

Delta was still a good twenty feet away. He'd only taken a few steps toward their table, but then his breath stalled in his lungs.

Sexy Man sniffed the air slightly, two quick inhales through his nose, and then he turned his head to gaze at Delta curiously. What was that all about? No way the guy could smell Delta from this distance. Or he was just sniffing the aroma of food and had glanced his way out of coincidence?

Delta needed to pull himself together, but right now, his brain couldn't decide between panicking or proceeding forward.

For a brief moment, he locked up. Couldn't move a muscle. Something he was good for whenever he freaked out.

The man's features softened, and his eyes gave off a warm glow. A relaxed smile appeared, and for some reason, Delta's chest loosened. The sounds in the diner resurfaced. Kids chatting loudly. Silverware clanking against plates. The sound of Delta's heavy breathing.

Running a hand down the front of his shirt, he scolded himself for turning into an idiot who lacked enough brain cells to function as an intelligent adult.

Take a hit of oxygen. Hold. Release.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

Now Delta wished he had his device. He had no idea what to do with his hands. He crossed his arms, let them hang limply at his sides, then finally jammed his hands into his back pockets to prevent himself from reaching out and running his fingers through Sexy Man's beard.

He just bet it would be as soft as it looked.

His fingers were itching to find out.

Now that he was close enough to get a better look, Delta realized how much older Sexy Man seemed compared to him. God, he couldn't believe he'd had such a strong reaction to someone old enough to be his father.

Was he? It was kind of hard to tell with that thick beard hugging his jaw and a mustache Delta was sure would tickle— Stop!

"What can I start you off with?"

In his dirty mind, that was a loaded question, but he was the only one in on it.

"You must be new,"

Sexy Man said, and oh my god… That voice. Like liquid velvet coating Delta's senses, evoking images of aged whisky and the scent of a good cigar. It was pure masculinity in vocal form.

"I'll just have a coffee for now,"

the guy across from Sexy Man said.

With a trembling breath, Delta swung his gaze toward Sexy Man's bicep. It was a huge gun adorned with tattoos. When it flexed slightly, Delta blinked, dumbfounded. Then his gaze traveled a little higher, sliding over the stranger's broad shoulder, stalling at his beard once more.

What was with that beard that he couldn't stop fixating on it?

Was it because he wanted to touch it and know what it felt like as those hairs tickled their way across his skin while those firm lips teased and seduced him?

"Kalen?"

The man across the table said Sexy Man's name questioningly. Kalen. Now he knew what name to cry out when he fantasized about the Greek god later. He was so massive Delta wondered how all those thick, corded muscles fit into the booth. They looked rock-hard, enough to crush anything stupid enough to stand in their way.

Yeah, sure, the guy across from Kalen was muscular, but not as big as Sexy Man, and Delta had no interest in him aside from being a customer. Kalen was a different story. Delta had never felt this strongly attracted to anyone before.

Finally, with a breath of courage, Delta glanced at Kalen. The interplay of light and shadow on his face from the rising sun highlighted his chiseled features, emphasizing his strong jawline and the piercing gaze of eyes the color of blue diamonds.

I'm just going to pass out now. Delta curled his fingers into the fabric of his back pockets, wondering why Kalen looked so stunned as they stared at one another.

"He'll have a coffee, too. Make it black. I think his brain needs a jolt since it seems to be stuck on your pretty face,"

the guy across from Kalen teased in an equally deep voice, but his voice lacked the seductive effect that made Delta's heart quiver.

Delta's face erupted in heat at the compliment, but a low, dangerous growl rumbled like a thunderstorm through Kalen's chest. "Careful, Quinton,"

Sexy Man warned.

Quinton was just as gorgeous, his dark gray eyes piercing. But his beard was trimmed low to his face. It was still nice, but Delta liked Sexy Man's better.

This coming from a guy who couldn't grow a beard to save his life. Delta had tried once. The hair had grown in dark patches and itched too badly. His sensitive skin had also broken out in red blotches.

"Just checking to see if your reaction was what I thought it was."

Quinton chuckled, clearly talking to Kalen. "Congratulations, old man."

That made no sense to Delta. Congratulations for what, and just how old was Kalen?

"Is black coffee okay?"

Delta wanted to make sure of Kalen's order and not just take his friend's word for it.

Kalen was staring at him as if Delta had three heads and was clucking like a chicken.

"Yeah."

Kalen cleared his throat. "Sounds fine. Thanks."

"On second thought, I'm ready to order,"

Quinton said.

Tearing his gaze away from Kalen, Delta nodded. "Go ahead."

"Aren't you going to write it down or use one of those handheld machines?"

Quinton looked skeptically at him. Delta really wished everyone would stop doubting his abilities.

"Trust me. I can remember."

He'd been doing this a long time and had a pretty decent memory. He was twenty-five and had been working in restaurants since he was sixteen. So far, he hadn't met an order he couldn't recall perfectly.

Quinton smiled. "Okay. I'll have two orders of pancakes, two orders of sausage—links and patties—with four pieces of bacon, two pieces of ham, a large bowl of grits, two large spinach omelets, no onions, extra cheese, and extra spinach, two toasted bagels, cream cheese on the side—not two halves, but two entire bagels—and a large glass of orange juice. Boom."

Quinton flicked his fingers toward the tabletop. "Tell me you remembered everything I just said."

Delta just blinked at him. The guy had to be joking. He was almost afraid to ask what Kalen wanted since he was nearly as large as his friend.

"French toast and sausage patties."

Kalen was still smiling warmly at him. Probably because he was expecting his friend to keel over from a heart attack with all that artery-clogging food and was trying to calm Delta down before it happened.

"Delta, your order is dying on the pass,"

Roman called out.

It was probably for gorgeous devil's table, but now all Delta thought of him as was rude. Pivoting, he made a beeline for the counter, thankful to have been pulled out of whatever daze he'd just been helplessly drowning in.